Before My Helpless Sight
by NoOneKnowsIWriteThis
Summary: England has massive angst during the First World War. "England shook his head, trying to remove the memory and focus on the present, the current battle. He tried to push his mind away from the recollection of being pulled out of the trench by a blond with eyes that were indigo instead of sapphire, Canada instead of, well..."


England couldn't believe he was here again, fighting for the third time for this Belgian town. It wasn't that he had anything against Ypres, it was just that the previous two battle there had been far from easy. While the general situation had brightened since the last time he'd fought at Ypres, America had finally seen reason and joined the Allied side, though he insisted on being separate from the rest of them, the war was still far from a sure thing. America's soldiers were nearly useless, lacking training and equipment. Plus the nation himself seemed a little holier-than-thou about the whole conflict.

"We're fighting a war to end all wars," he'd said, laughing as he wandered off to rejoin his men.

England scoffed at the thought. As if anything, let alone _America,_ a nation who almost thrived on fighting, could end all wars. He stared across the land that lay between his trench and the German one. He felt the memory of the last time he'd been at this town wash over him.

He could almost see the yellow wall of smoke drifting across the battlefield, drawing closer and closer until it descended upon them, filling his lungs with its horrible poison, choking him as his eyes burned.

England shook his head, trying to remove the memory and focus on the present, the current battle. He tried to push his mind away from the recollection of being pulled out of the trench by a blond with eyes that were indigo instead of sapphire, Canada instead of, well...

He tried to ignore how he'd lay in the medical tent as his body rebuilt itself and forced the poison out, how happy he'd been when Canada approached because the lad had brought news of victory, but disappointed because there was no news of America.

England glanced at the gun in his hands, wishing, not for the first time, that it could release him from where he was trapped, doomed to love one who didn't love him back. But that was the curse of immortality, he was doomed to live, doomed to die a thousand deaths and yet live.

He felt, as he heard the tell-tale sound of an artillery shell falling nearby, that one more death wouldn't hurt.

When England came to he was in the medical tent again. His foggy vision informed him that he wasn't alone in the tent, a blurry blond was standing at his bedside.

England let out a small groan at having his rest come to an end, immediately earning him the focus of his visitor.

"England?" the other asked frantically, his voice identifying him as America. "England, talk to me."

England grumbled softly. America moved closer to the bed. "England," he said softly. "What's wrong?"

England's eyes flew open, immediately targeting America with their sharp gaze. "What isn't wrong?" he bit back.

America stepped back a bit, startled by the harshness of the other's tone.

"I'm living in trenches in France fighting a war that started because one man was killed, and now you come in acting like some high and mighty hero when your troops aren't even combat ready." He narrowed his eyes slightly, his brows furrowing furiously together. "Dying is the only time I can get some peace," he hissed. "And bullets and bombs are far more preferable than the gas."

America stared at him incredulously, mouth hanging open. Of course that was only to be expected, England had never revealed his melancholy to anyone before and America, isolated as he was, had never been in a war that had felt this futile before.

"E-England, I-" America stammered, startled.

"Go away," England muttered. "Go away and leave me to my rest."

America blinked rapidly before managing "A-alright. If that's what you want." Then he turned and left.

England closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to watch the sight of the other's back as he once again walked away. This was what he wanted, he reminded himself. Peace and quiet. There was no point in trying to force an already failed romance in the midst of this terrible war.

He rolled over, best to try and get some sleep before he was needed again. This was going to be a long war.

-  
Historical Notes:  
"Before my helpless sight..." - the title and the fake cut come from the poem "Dulce et Decorum est" by Wilfred Owen, an anti-war poem written during WWI by a soldier that graphically describes the effect of gas attacks.  
"fighting for the third time" - the story takes place during the Third Battle of Ypres, also known as the Battle of Passchendaele. This is after the U.S. officially joined the war, but before any U.S. troops saw combat.  
"insisted on being separate" - American troops were separate from the other Allies.  
"We're fighting a war to end all wars" - This was a common U.S. view at the time. This idea of the USA only fighting the war to ensure peace.  
"the last time he'd been at this town" - The Second Battle of Ypres, the first time Germany used gas on a large scale on the Western Front.  
"the yellow wall of smoke" - Chlorine Gas  
Canada - The Canadian troops did a lot of really important stuff at this battle, such as filling in the gap created by troops fleeing the chlorine gas.  
"a war that started because one man was killed" - The start of WWI is usually considered to be the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand.


End file.
